


Rituals

by routa



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Not Beta Read, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Hank Anderson, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-19 10:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16532651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/routa/pseuds/routa
Summary: All people had rituals. Hank Anderson was no exception. He had formed a perfectly crushing Christmas ritual of not getting up and being depressed three years ago. But apparently a certain detective android didn't get the memo on that. Meanwhile, the universe seemed to be out to get them for some reason.





	1. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have no idea what I'm doing here, except that I fell into this fandom and there seemed to be lots of great Detroit stuff here, and I figured I'd dump some of the probably not-so-great writing I needed to get out of my head here as well. It's a little character study-ish but mostly just me practising my cynical, depressed guy narrator-voice because it's fun. Also Connor and Hank friendship because their buddy cop -thing is the best stuff in the game for me. I hope someone at least enjoys this. *shrug*
> 
> If anyone stumbles across this, then I'm glad to meet you! I'm new, which was probably obvious. English is not my first language, but I try my best. Have a good time!

All humans had rituals. Hell, probably all thinking things had rituals. It kept things nice and orderly, gave a person some certainty in this chaotic pool of inconvenient surprises that was life. Or then they just made it easier to turn life into a series of mechanical tasks. Usually, the more interesting and important rituals were invented around celebrations and holidays. There was just something about putting a significant date in a nice little mould. Something to make those special moments just a bit easier and predictable too.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson was no different from all thinking things in that he had rituals. He also had holiday rituals, such as a Christmas ritual he had formed about three years ago. One where he would stay in bed until he absolutely had to get up to let his dog out. One where he’d keep the lights off and hope his insufferable neighbour, who always hung up an obnoxious amount of Christmas lights and plastic elves wouldn’t decide that _this_ was the year he would buy decorations that _sang_ too.

And if that happened, Hank would probably just shoot the damn things.

But this year apparently wasn’t going to be one where he’d get to land headshots on singing, neon-lit Santas. This year he also wouldn’t be working the Christmas shift, because he was currently suspended as a formality for punching a douchebag FBI agent in the face. So this was going to be another year of darkness, silence and drowning out all of his worst thoughts. Letting the memories of ambulance sirens on an icy road and too much blood on a too young face be dulled by alcohol and peace-

“Good morning, Lieutenant! The current time is 08:04:39. The day is December 25. There is a light snowfall outside, and the temperature is 12.54 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Oh, f’cking h’ll.”

It was the snowiest, most postcard-worthy goddamn day in the entire year of 2038. That was the first thought that entered Hank Anderson’s head when the blinds in his bedroom window were yanked open with a precisely calculated move and Hank was forced to blink sleep out of his eyes in the snow-intensified light of the rising sun. Someone actually knowledgeable about weather patterns would say that weather did in fact _not_ have a sense of drama nor humour. But considering that the whole city of Detroit had descended into utter chaos barely more than a month ago, that most people were still out of town because of the evacuation that had been conducted as a result of a fucking android uprising and that nothing about the whole situation could be farther away from a nice, picturesque holiday time, Hank had to come to a conclusion that yes, weather was a cheeky son of a bitch determined to ruin the crushing mood he had planned to wake up in.

Not as determined, however, as the android now standing by the window, looking obnoxiously awake and perfectly groomed with his brown hair in its usual slicked back factory settings and his clothes dangerously approaching semi-formal even at this hour. His posture was too straight but his smile was easy and a bit crooked. The circular LED on his temple shone a calm, happy blue, flickering a little for who-knows-what reason. Probably because of the barely contained enthusiasm that was struggling to break through the dark brown puppy dog eyes some genius designer had decided to stick on the face of a prototype police detective model. That had been Connor in a nutshell lately; half-protocol, half barely-processed, intense new emotion.

It was still a bit too ironic to not be funny. Connor, who had been assigned as Hank’s partner at the Detroit Police Department for the sole reason of hunting down those androids who developed sentience, had developed sentience himself. And had in the process managed to show Hank that the machines Hank had hated for being so emotionless had more humanity than most humans. Not that it was hard in this fucked up world.

The kid had probably saved his life several times over. And sure, he had also made Hank care. At least enough to let Connor stay when the kid had become a person and realised he had nowhere to go now that CyberLife was all but torn down and trying to shape up under new management. That _didn’t_ mean, however, that the bastard had the right to intrude upon Hank’s depressing-as-hell Christmas routine. Hank tried to turn his head and bury himself in his pillow, but a plastic finger poked him in the shoulder insistently enough that he looked up again. He was again faced with a movie-worthy snowfall in the window that was partially blocked by Connor’s face.

“You shouldn’t go back to sleep now,” Connor said, “By analysing your heartrate and eye movements I determined that this moment was the most beneficial for waking up when taking to account your natural sleep cycles. Also, there is breakfast waiting for you in the kitchen, and it will probably get cold or eaten by Sumo if you don’t get up soon.”

“He can have it,” Hank muttered, “’N’ don’t scan me while I’m asleep. ‘S creepy.”

There was a short but heavy silence. Hank could almost sense the disappointment in Connor. Shit. Reluctantly, Hank pushed himself up from the bed and stood, trying his best to ignore the cracks in his over fifty-year-old knees.

“Fine,” he sighed, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

He got dressed in one of his favourite, horribly retro shirts and dark pants and almost made it into the bathroom before he realised just how easily he’d been dragged up this morning. So much for rituals and not intruding on them. He shook his head at the thought, not sure whether to be amused, annoyed, or realising something profound about his life. Before Connor, Hank had pretty much embraced the idea of dying depressed and alone, either to a bullet or to an unhealthy lifestyle. With some luck, he might have even died on the job. But in the wake of the android revolution, Hank had found himself embracing a homeless, goofy android instead. An android who had at some point managed to become his friend, worm his way into his heart in a way very few had. Especially after Cole…

_No. Don’t go there._

He forced himself to empty his head while he washed up and trudged into the kitchen. Sumo lumbered to greet him halfway there. Hank patted the huge St. Bernard on his way to the table, where there was indeed an assortment of… well, Hank wasn’t always sure _what_ all the things Connor cooked for him were. The kid seemed to pull them out of the internet under search terms like “wholefood”, “plant-based”, and “undoing the damage a sad piece of shit has done to himself by consuming mostly fast food and microwave dinners for the last three years”. Whatever it was, Hank had to grudgingly admit that it was usually good. Hank kept telling Connor that he didn’t need to bother, that he was his roommate, not his maid. But Connor always gave him an easy shrug and a variation of: “I know, but I want to” as a response. Hank couldn’t possibly say no to that; the android still had a shaky grasp on the whole concept of wanting anything, so hearing him say it with such certainty was enough to crash down all of Hank’s defences.

Now Connor sat where he usually sat when Hank was eating, across from Hank at the table. It had been a bit weird at first, to have him just sit there. Hank had had to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t rude of him to eat when Connor didn’t, because androids didn’t eat anyway. Well, unless licking biohazardous substances counted – and it _didn’t_ , thank you very much. Though that was apparently not an android thing, but mostly just a Connor thing. Not every android was a walking forensics lab – thank fuck for that.

 “So…” Hank said in-between bites, “Any particular reason you’re dragging me up at this hour?”

Connor tilted his head, uncertainty crossing his face before he managed another smile.

“It’s Christmas Day. I know that you’ve expressed your distaste for the holiday, but you did tell me I could do what I wanted to celebrate it.”

“I did?”

“Yes. Two days ago, you said: _I don’t give a shit about Christmas, but you do you, Connor_.”

Hank jumped in his seat when he heard _his own voice_ coming out of the android’s mouth. A gruff baritone and a twenty-something-looking pretty-boy face _did not_ go together.

“Jesus! What the fuck?!”

“Oh, sorry,” Connor said and from the look on his face, Hank could tell that the son of a bitch wasn’t the least bit sorry, “I thought you knew that mimicking voices is one of my features. It’s detailed in my manual, which I gave you to read when I moved in.”

“The fucking thing’s longer than the Harry Potter series and full of technobabble! You think I can get anything out of it?”

“You can always ask me if you run into difficult words.”

“Little shit.”

“You’re trying to distract from the subject.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. I did say that. So, you actually want to do something today?”

“Yes. Well, nothing too intrusive, I hope. I found some of your old lights and put them up in the living room…”

Hank glanced to over his shoulder and saw that the old, silvery lights had indeed been strung to the window, all perfectly lined up, ruler-straight and at even intervals.

“…I also downloaded some recipes for a proper Christmas dinner and got all the necessary ingredients yesterday. I used this morning to cook, and-“

“Jesus, Connor, how early did you get up?”

“I exited standby mode at 05:30:00,” Connor said in a chipper tone, “It gave me plenty of time to prepare.”

Hank stared at him blankly.

“You got up at the ass crack of dawn to cook for me?”

“Yes. Because I wanted to spend the holiday with you.”

He said it like it was an obvious thing. It wasn’t, not for Hank. How long had it been since anyone had volunteered to spend time with him, let alone during the holidays? Why did he even ask himself that? He knew the answer to most of those kinds of questions. How long ago had anything happy happened to him? The answer was always the same.

He sighed.

“I appreciate it, but I was kinda planning on not getting up today.”

He supposed he should at least try to feel a bit more positive about today, but it was… difficult. Christmas was just a time for people to use a mostly forgotten religious excuse to take days off, decorate trees with plastic crap, cook too much food, and hand out material goods in place of actual affection, all wrapped nicely in snowflake patterns and denial.

God, his cynicism was through the roof today. And he wasn’t a Christmas person even in a good year.

He had been, once. He had been many things once.

“I know,” Connor said, and Hank wasn’t sure _what_ exactly he knew, “You told me that too. I was still hoping you’d join me. It _is_ my first Christmas, so I might need some assistance with figuring everything out.”

Shit. He was doing it again. Suckering Hank into something he hadn’t thought he’d ever bother with again. Things like living. Damn that negotiator program or whatever it was that made the kid so… manipulative.

“What do you usually do around this time of the year?” Connor asked, as if he hadn’t already looked up a shit ton of holiday traditions online.

“Guess,” Hank said gruffly.

“Get drunk?”

Ouch. Truth hurts.

“Yup.”

Hank knew, just _knew_ that the kid had calculated in some corner of his super-computer brain that Hank was prone to especially crushing bouts of depression around this time. That not getting up at all wasn’t his only routine. In the last few years, the hours he spent awake during Christmases had been at home alone, with only a dog, bottles of whiskey, and a gun with a single bullet for company. A ritual not only reserved for the holidays. He’d watched holiday shows on TV for as long as he could stomach it, and then he had either switched off all the lights, hoping he’d never have to get up from the couch he had slumped into, or spun the cylinder of the revolver a few times, finger ghosting over the trigger.

He sighed.

“Before… you know, we used to be at home. Eat some damn good food, watch TV, open presents. The usual shit. Cole liked to go outside… make snow angels and all that good stuff.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It _was_.”

There was an awkward silence after that. Connor’s perfect posture slumped just a little bit, and Hank felt even shittier. Crap, the kid was _trying,_ and Hank was being an ass about it, wallowing in self-pity when Connor was trying to live his life. A life that had so far been too short to really experience much. Hank struggled to finish his breakfast and tried not to think about the depressing things. Or the good things before them because that made the depressing things feel even worse. He was fairly sure one part of the meal was an admittedly delicious omelette, but it was made of something that wasn’t eggs because Connor had taken one look at eggs and declared them a source of way too much cholesterol. It was… strange to know someone cared about his health. God knows he hadn’t for a while.

He should probably speak up, say something before the android across the table sunk into holiday blues too just because Hank was being a stubborn, sad sack of shit.

Hank opened his mouth and might have thought up something to say, but right at that moment an obnoxiously happy tune blasted its way through the windows, and a choir of pre-recorded, nasally voices started singing:

_“It’s the most wonderful time of the year…”_

It was so sudden that it gave Hank whiplash. Almost literally, because his head automatically snapped towards the sound, his fork clattering on his now empty plate.

“What the shit is that?!” he growled.

“ _It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year_ ,” Connor said automatically, posture straight again and hands folded on his lap, “A Christmas song composed in 1963 by Edward Pola and George Wyle and first performed by Andy Williams.”

“Well, _yeah_ , but who the hell is- oh, _hell_ no!”

Before he knew what he was doing, he was marching into the snow and cold outside, only taking the bare minimum time to step into his winter boots and throw on his jacket.

When he got outside, it seemed that his not-serious prediction about his neighbour, Maurice Jenkins, finally getting singing décor for his gaudy holiday display had finally come true.

He had known Jenkins had put up some of his Christmas crap this year too, but he _wasn’t_ prepared to find the guy’s entire frickin’ yard decked out in lights, rainbow-coloured reindeer, animatronic Santas from thirty years ago, and – yes – a fucking row of singing, lit-up snowmen that were currently butchering a holiday classic with outdated bot-voices. It was surreal; the whole city had barely recovered from the android protests and the subsequent evacuation, most people were still out of town, tensions were high and people were trying to figure out how to deal with the new world order that had to account for sentient robots, and Jenkins was _still_ spending hours putting up his lights and plastic elves? Priorities, apparently.

He heard his door open and close, and Connor walked up to him, blinking wildly as he processed the overflow of stimuli in front of them.

The singing got louder. Jenkins was standing right next to those goddamn snowmen, dressed in a bright red sweater and old-ass boots and looking proud of himself for wrecking the peace in the neighbourhood.

“Jenkins!” Hank roared, “Turn those fucking things off!”

Jenkins was a tall, skinny man in his late forties. He turned to look at Hank with a somewhat haughty look on his face. Like Hank was being culturally illiterate for not appreciating the finer points of singing, plastic snowmen.

“Merry Christmas, Hank!” he chirped – yes, _chirped,_ “Good to see you too! I see you still need some time to get into the holiday spirit.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank waved his hand, “I’ll get into the spirit when you turn off that racket. Not everyone wants to listen to that for the whole fucking day!”

“Ehh, maybe not the whole day, but you know, for a while at least,” Jenkins said jovially, “This neighbourhood feels even less… festive this year than usually, you know? I was thinking that this might help!”

“You do know there was an evacuation and a city-wide crisis just a few weeks ago, right?” Hank deadpanned, “So yeah, I _wonder_ why no one’s in the mood for Christmas.”

“I know that!” Jenkins waved his arms, almost looking like he was trying to shoo away the snowflakes that gathered on his shoulders, “But that’s just it, you know? When crisis strikes, everyone needs some escapism even more than usual! We’re rebuilding, man! We can be happy about that! The dust has settled, the worst is over, and sure, shit might hit the fan soon again, but right now, we’re a-okay! At least okay enough to hang up some lights! Be nice! Love thy neighbour, all that!”

“He does have a point,” Connor spoke up, and then gave Jenkins a small nod and an almost-there smile, “Happy Christmas, Mr. Jenkins.”

“See, he gets it!” Jenkins smiled, “Of course he does. He and my snowmen are basically kin!”

The tentative smile on Connor’s face died.

“Ha-ha, Jenkins,” Hank said in an ice cold voice. He stood dead still and didn’t dare move, because the alternative would be punching the guy in the face, “Hilarious. You know that counts as racism nowadays, right? I could fine you for hate speech.”

Jenkins went very quiet, then, and mumbled a last “happy holidays” before slinking back into his house. The snowmen continued singing. Hank’s eye twitched.

“You wanna shoot those damn things as much as I do?”

“I think you should go inside before it gets too cold.”

“Fine,” Hank said, searching through his pockets, “You got the keys? Because I don’t.”

There was a long, heavy, keyless silence.

“You always keep your keys in your jacket pocket,” Connor finally said, “I assumed-“

“Shit!” Hank cursed, patting his pockets again and only finding his phone and his wallet, “I used them yesterday when I took out the trash and put them… somewhere.”

Another silence.

“I could always-“ Connor started, but Hank raised a hand to stop him.

“ _No_! You’re not breaking any of my windows again! We’re getting a locksmith.”

“No locksmiths are working in Detroit today because of the evacuation and the holidays.”

“Shit!”

“I’m sorry, Hank.”

Hank rubbed his eyes. It was going to be a loooong day.

“Nah, it’s not your fault,” he muttered.

They stood in the snow for a long moment. Finally, Connor spoke hesitantly:

“We could perhaps… go to a mall, or a café… or anyplace that wouldn’t do bad things to your blood pressure.”

Hank looked at the shiny yard of his neighbour and then at the house that was now locked and whose kitchen window Hank had just recently replaced because a certain android had broken through it to sober him up that one time…

“I fed Sumo and took him for a walk before I woke you,” Connor added, “So he should be fine for a few hours.”

Hank sighed again. It was a long-suffering sigh that expelled not only this but many other shitty Christmases from his system as well.

“Alright, let’s go. There’s bound to be some place even in this city that’s not depressing or annoying.”

He didn’t miss the way Connor’s eyes lit up.


	2. Carols and Coffee

It was funny how even an android uprising and a city-wide evacuation couldn’t stop the commercialised Christmas being shoved in everyone’s faces. Maybe because most of the stores and malls had put up their blinky lights and creepy elves before androids started demanding rights and sent the whole country in a state of serious confusion and panic for a while. So for a few weeks, Detroit had been a mostly empty city with lonely tinsel and dead-eyed Christmas decorations – most of it holograms, of course. Not the most glamorous place for a new, sentient race to squat in while people got their shit back together. But it had been good enough, apparently, and the androids had even taken care of the city while most of the humans were gone. Or at least they had taken care not to wreck too many buildings and stolen too much property despite many of them still being in a state of righteous fury and screwed up by their suddenly awoken ability to feel and think for themselves.

So when some of the humans – mostly emergency personnel – had started to tentatively return, the place had apparently been in good enough shape that some greedy assholes in retail had thought that it was a _wonderful_ time to sell old holidays to people.

The result was a mostly empty city with a few overenthusiastic malls blasting Christmas jingles into the cold December air.

It was sad, really. And also a bit funny, in its pathetic way.

Hank, however, wasn’t laughing. Not when he had to stand in one of the sad and half-empty shopping malls, surrounded by flickering, rainbow-coloured lights and an overly slow rendition of _Twelve Days of Christmas_ (because regular speed wasn’t painfully repetitive enough, apparently). A few groups of people were doing absolute-last-minute shopping for Christmas, rushing about almost desperately. The whole place _reeked_ of just that. Desperation. Clinging to the routine.

The newly awakened androids seemed to try to find some kind of order in it all, but they seemed to be at a loss about what to do during Christmastime. They milled about in groups, the ones with the LEDs still on their temples had them shining mostly yellow light on the passers-by. Processing.

Hank could relate to them. He was processing too. Trying to figure out what the fuck he was doing with his life.

He reminded himself that no matter how shitty the day had started out, it was still Connor’s first Christmas. He could at least _try_. And this was at least more tolerable than the other places they’d stopped at – sadly enough. Hank stepped aside at the mall’s sliding door, letting Connor past him. The android walked a few steps and stopped in his tracks, LED spinning yellow and a smile breaking out on his face again. Despite everything, Hank found himself smiling too.

“Okay,” Hank said, “So it’s not the usual levels of cheery, and it’s a bit annoying, but it’s at least warmer than the streets and it doesn’t have seedy douchebags looking like they want to murder us. So let’s do this. It’s your first Christmas, so go nuts. And _don’t_ take that in any weird literal way, okay?”

“…okay?”

They managed to walk a few more steps before someone almost barrelled into them, arms full of brightly coloured bags. Hank wanted to flip her off, but managed not to, no matter how much the rushing and the whole place annoyed him and _god_ , that song was _still_ going!

_Okay, make an effort._

He put on his best, brave smile and walked after his friend.

They visited a bookstore staffed by androids, who had put on red sweaters and smiled and waved when they passed, half of them with a blue LED and the other half with none. Connor managed to somehow dig up paperclips somewhere in the midst of the shelves filled with electronic paper and digital art supplies. The song finally changed to a slightly less annoying one. They stopped at a pet store to buy dog treats for Sumo, and such a normal thing like spoiling his dog made something in Hank’s chest spark. Something that didn’t just feel like his abused heart finally deciding to fail. It definitely helped that Connor was so excited about the pet store, babbling the Latin names of everything in there and scanning the nutritional value of pet food – it was apparently mostly shit _and_ the food was produced in questionable conditions, but at least they eventually found some passable dog treats.

“Do you think he’ll like them?” Connor asked almost anxiously.

“Con, that dog will eat practically _anything_ ,” Hank replied, “He’s gonna _love_ these.”

The smile he received made his heart melt just a little bit more.

They managed to find a café that was miraculously open, and they sat in a corner table, Hank with a cup of black coffee and the almost withered spark in his chest struggling to get to the surface. If he squinted, the day was becoming almost bearable. As annoying as the people were, it was oddly charming and nice to see them out and about, see humans and androids being in the same building without _too_ much tension in the air. It was making a small part of Hank’s cynical, shrivelled soul think that maybe taking a moment to celebrate a holiday he didn’t care much about was worth it after all.

And then there was Connor, who looked like… well, like a kid on his first Christmas. Which he technically was. Connor wasn’t even five months old yet, and while the age-thing worked very differently for androids, it didn’t change the fact that Connor had actually seen very little in his life. It was one thing to look up stuff online or have it programmed into their brain and another to actually be there. As it was, even the sad version of the holiday was enough to make Connor beam at everything and stare with some weird brand of wonder. He could barely sit still on the padded café chair. Brown eyes followed the pattern of the lights, then darted to the people with bags, then to the huge plastic tree – which was realer than most mall Christmas trees because it was actually _there_ and not just a hologram – in the middle of it all. He picked apart Christmas songs in the weird way he did to all music, not as much listening as… _deconstructing_ it.

“It’s… bright,” he said, “Almost all of it.”

He looked expectantly around them as if waiting for some eternal mystery of life to suddenly solve itself through the power of holiday cheer.

“I suppose this would normally be more crowded. Though my research indicates many people like spending Christmas with their families at home.”

“Yeah.”

Somehow, saying that was harder than it should have been. Connor’s LED flashed yellow, and he was quick to change the subject. Behind them, a few androids had gathered into a group. One human man was among them, holding the hand of a LEDless android woman Hank recognised as one of the common housekeeper models. They started to sing, and the cheesy pre-recorded crap on the speakers was drowned out by them. Connor closed his eyes. He looked… happy. And it was contagious.

Hank could again spare a moment to think that the day just might be salvaged.

And of course, just as he thought of that, fate or whatever piece of shit threw ill-timed crap at them decided to make the day suck even worse than Hank could have thought.

It started with a neatly dressed middle-aged couple, who sat down with steaming mugs of coffee and talked in raised voices. Something about being stranded in Detroit for the holidays because of the traffic and the currently wonky bus timetables. At first, Hank didn’t pay them much mind, but then he felt the man’s eyes on him and turned just in time for the man to stand up and walk up to him.

“Holy shit!” was the man’s greeting, “Hank Anderson?!”

It took Hank a few seconds to connect a man from his memories to the man in front of him. Seconds during which he practically _heard_ Connor’s face scan working out the man’s name, age and criminal record and who knows what else. Then he blinked and stood up when he caught up with the situation. Keith and Marigold Keller, old acquaintances from better times. Their daughter, Marilyn, had sometimes babysat Cole, before…

_Shit. Not again!_

“Keith?” he said out loud, shaking the man’s hand, “Holy shit indeed. What the hell are you two doing here?”

“We had to return here because of Mari’s work,” Keith said while Marigold stood up as well, her coffee cup squeezed tightly in her long-fingered, gloved hand, “And now we’re stuck because the traffic’s all messed up. We were gonna go to Marilyn’s place down in Charlotte, but…”

He shrugged, and Marigold grimaced behind an obsessively neatly applied layer of make-up. They had both aged enviably well, though right now something was clearly stressing them out. Which to be fair wasn’t a surprise all things considered.

“We should have taken care of the tickets earlier,” Marigold said snippily, “If we hadn’t-“

“Mari, come on, we’ve got company,” Keith said and flashed a smile to Hank, “What a mess, eh? Android revolution… not what I expected to happen. I guess I should have read more sci-fi. But at least we’re still alive, huh? How… how’re you?”

How was he? Ask him that about a month ago, and he wouldn’t have answered. Shitty. Awful. Suicidal. All things no one needed to hear. That had been partly why he had shut so many people out after Cole had died. People like the Kellers. It had been easier – though saying what he had gone through was anything close to easy would be an insult – to just keep his distance, push people away and wallow in his misery and loss because damn it, he _had the right_ to do that. But now… now he felt like some of that darkness had lifted, broken through by a circling, blue LED. The suffocating, dark blob of depression had started to break down, become smaller, more manageable. But it was still too raw, too heavy to just say out loud to people who had become basically strangers in recent years. So he just shrugged his shoulders instead and said:

“Life’s… going. How’s Marilyn?”

“She’s doing great. She’s studying. Gonna be a school teacher. We’re kind of worried how she’ll find a job, but I guess we’ll cross that bridge after she graduates. She’s engaged now.”

“Sounds great, tell her I said hi and congrats,” Hank said and then gestured towards Connor, who sat ramrod straight with his hands still folded in a perfectly symmetrical shape on the table, “By the way, this is Connor, my new roommate and my work partner. Connor, these are Keith and Marigold Keller. Old friends.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Connor said, “I’m sorry to hear you can’t get to your daughter during the holidays.”

“And whose fault is that?” Marigold snapped at her husband again, latching onto Connor’s words and otherwise ignoring the android, “Look, next time let’s maybe not leave everything to the last goddamn minute!”

“Look, I know you’re stressed because of the work and this whole situation-“ Keith started.

“Of course I’m stressed! This city is in shambles!”

“I know! I hate it too.”

“I think that there has already been considerable improvement in the state of the city compared to November,” Connor said diplomatically, slowly rising from his seat and standing right next to Hank, “You’ve done great work here.”

“We had to leave this city to fucking robots, and now-“ Marigold trailed off when she saw Connor blink a little too fast and only now noticed his LED. She also had to have seen Hank go from politeness to ice cold in the span of her sentence. Apparently racist assholes were determined to ruin all civil conversations today.

Marigold sighed, waving her coffee around so that it sloshed over the edges of her mug, “Look, I don’t _hate_ you guys, okay?” she gestured towards Connor, “But you have to admit that you sure did a number on this place. We should have handled this much-“

Hank wasn’t sure what her brilliant solution to the human-android tensions were. Because by the time she got to that, nearly everyone was talking at once.

 “Okay, I’ll let that one slide, but you talk any more shit about androids around my partner, and-“

“Stop overreacting, Hank! I’m just angry because we need to clean up their mess-!“

 “I think that’s enough of-“

“Oh, wow, and I almost started to think that this was a nice reunion!”

“I think it would be best if everyone just calmed down-“

“WE WEREN’T EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE HERE TODAY!”

“Yeah, we all have problems. Could you stop shrieking?”

“Oh, screw you-“

And then, the shit really hit the fan. Or more like, coffee hit the android.

It was unintentional, Hank was fairly sure. But if he ever found out it had been on purpose somehow, he’d probably break something. Like the Kellers’ faces. But no matter the motive, what happened was this: Marigold pointed her finger at Hank and in her somewhat misdirected anger forgot that she was still holding a mug of steaming coffee. Keith grabbed his wife’s arm to calm her down, and the coffee spilled. Hank didn’t have time to realise what was going on before a too-strong-to-be-human arm had yanked him to the side and a strange sizzling noise cut through the Christmas carols.

Hank froze. So did the Kellers. The yelling had stopped when the coffee had flown. They stood in a haphazard circle frozen in time by the power of shock and outrage. And in the middle of it all stood Connor, blinking rapidly, his hand tentatively reaching to touch his face, where his synthetic skin was fluctuating away from the burning coffee like oil from water.

Marigold dropped her mug onto the nearest table and put her hands to her mouth.

“Oh my god!”

“It’s okay,” Connor said immediately, “I’ll be fine.”

He said it all in a very calm, even voice, and it might have sounded convincing if he hadn’t looked, quite frankly, like straight from a horror movie. The shiny white plastic and silvery metal under his skin showed through on about half of his face, and the skin itself looked terribly splotchy around the most affected area. Hank managed to go through all the swearwords he knew in his mind before his mouth started working again. He turned to the Kellers.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“It was an accident!” Marigold shrieked, throwing her arms up defensively, “I didn’t mean to- Oh, hell, are you okay, uh… Connor, was it?”

“I’m okay,” Connor said and even dared to flash a smile. It looked fucking disturbing on the half-plastic, coffee-soaked face, “No harm done.”

“Uh… good,” Keith said tentatively, horribly stumbling over even the two words – one of which wasn’t even a word, “Um… we should probably go.”

“Yeah,” Hank said icily, “ _Maybe_ you should.”

He grabbed Connor’s shoulder and led him away from the two.

“Shit…” he muttered, “You’re not gonna… melt or anything?”

“No,” Connor said and still blinked a bit too fast, “I’m fine. I just need to clean my optical units. My skin is partially glitching, but it will reform once I get it fixed. I’m already working on that.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Of course not. Androids-“

“-don’t feel pain. Yeah, I know. But I mean…”

Connor wiped more coffee from his eyes. Hank tried not to wince when he saw that the skin on Connor’s right hand had partially disappeared too. He had probably tried to shield his face with it.

“It’s not _pleasant_ , if that’s what you’re asking,” Connor said, ”But it’s nothing serious. I’ll go clean myself up and see you in five minutes.”

“You… yeah, do that,” Hank said uncomfortably, keenly aware of how helpless he was in this situation. He should _really_ start reading the RK800 manual Connor had dumped into his email inbox, ”I’ll wait here.”

“If you feel like moving, you can. I can locate you through your phone’s GPS.”

“Creepy, but okay.”

He watched Connor walk towards the restrooms like nothing had happened. The carollers kept singing. Hank sighed, slumped back into a chair in the now empty café, poked his half-empty coffee mug and watched the now somehow offending liquid slosh around.

He glanced at the carollers. At the human and the android who were holding hands. When he looked closely, he could see a few other humans in the small crowd as well. A few of the mall-goers had joined in. Cheesy, but somehow needed, especially today when people were still tentatively building a new world order and trying not to hate each other too much in the wake of a revolution.

A small, maybe a bit childish voice inside Hank scoffed at the Kellers for not seeing this. For just seeing their delayed buses. Then again, he probably wouldn’t have seen anything positive about this either if he hadn’t had to work in the centre of it all. If an android hadn’t forced him to climb out of the pit of despair and depression he had dug for himself in recent years.

The song changed. Hank felt… almost cheerful. Nostalgic. He’d been to malls like this – decked out in Christmas décor and full of music – during a time when he’d been happier. When his son’s excited footsteps had made him worried he’d lose him in the crowd. But Cole was smart enough to never stray too far. He’d laughed at the plastic Santas and nervously smiled at the humans dressed like Santas, and he was the most excited about getting Sumo a present. He’d… shit, Hank had wandered too far down memory lane. He was swallowing tears that threatened to fall into his coffee. Just when he had started to feel something positive too.

“Hank?”

Hank was startled by Connor’s soft, almost whispered call. The android was standing a respectful distance away, still looking like shit but at least able to keep his eyes open without fear of them getting fried or whatever it was they would do.

“I’m okay,” Hank said, “You?”

“Better,” Connor said, “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

Hank shrugged. The carollers moved onto some foreign Christmas song that was probably about dead kids, knowing his luck. He stood up slowly, downed his coffee and set the mug back on the table. It clinked against the fake marble like a bell.

“Yeah. Do we have any beer at home?”

“No. But you-“

“Shut up, it’s Christmas. Let’s find a grocery store that’s still open. I need a drink.”

It didn’t take long to find a small place with a cheap neon hologram that said _OPEN_ and that seemed more or less intact. The cashier – some poor dude who was stuck in a tiny store for Christmas – hesitantly waved at them after eyeing Connor very nervously and told them they’d be closing down in half an hour. Good. More than enough time. Things were looking up again. The day had been a fucking rollercoaster, but Hank dared to hope that their bad luck had finally run dry.

He was halfway into the drinks aisle when he heard someone walk into the store, a click, and a somewhat frantic:

“Hand over the cash. Now!”

_Oh, fucking hell!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...my favourite Christmas song actually is about a dead child.


	3. Snow Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you all who left comments, kudos and bookmarks and just spared a passing interest in this! I'm flattered. I was thinking of possibly making other stories about D:BH. If there's interest. *shrug*
> 
> Have a good time everyone! Thanks again for reading!

Hank wasn’t a religious man, but right now he was sure that all the gods in the world _hated_ him. He turned around, cursing being suspended and _still having to work_. A young man – barely an adult – wearing a dark green coat, with a beanie and a scarf covering his head and face, was pointing a gun at the cashier. His hands were unsteady, and his posture wasn’t quite as confident as someone holding a loaded weapon should have. From that and the insecure voice Hank could tell that whoever was robbing the store could easily be persuaded to rethink their life choices with the good old flash of a badge and maybe a wave of his service weapon. But he wasn’t on the job, and his guns were safely away from his jacket pockets. Still, he was a cop, and he had decades of experience with ordering around stupid kids who thought waving guns at cashiers’ faces made them big boys.

The cashier was blinking nervously, his hand going towards something. The kid jabbed his gun in the air.

“Don’t touch the alarm! And-and don’t speak the voice activation shit either! If you still got security androids, call them off and hand me the money! Now!”

The cashier didn’t move for two seconds, which was apparently enough to send the kid into a nervous hissy fit. He waved his gun around again.

“Goddammit, do it now!”

Hank could more sense than hear Connor’s now silent footsteps somewhere behind him. He cast a look at his partner, who was standing near the back of the store, half of his face still skinless and eyes scanning the place and the robber. Hank silently motioned him to stay put, call the cops, and be ready. Connor’s LED immediately turned yellow, this time as a sign that he was calling. Hank nodded approvingly, and then turned and walked over to the robber.

He knew he should probably be more cautious, should have stayed back and started talking to the kid from a safe distance. But he had quite frankly had enough of this shit – _all of the shit_ – and he wanted to go home. So he stopped right behind the kid – too close for comfort – and watched him turn around. The kid gasped and started to move his gun, but Hank grabbed the kid’s forearm near the elbow and forced the gun towards the floor. The kid had some muscle tone, but he was considerably smaller than Hank, and he didn’t seem to have much experience in escaping holds. His scared green eyes flickered to Hank’s face, and Hank said in a deadly calm tone:

“Kid, I don’t know what you’ve got yourself into, but it’s Christmas, and I’m having a shitty day. So maybe put the gun down and be nice so we don’t have to make it even shittier because I really don’t want to deal with this kind of crap right now.”

“Wh-who the fuck are you?” the kid stammered, “Step back, old man, or I’ll shoot!”

“Sure you will. I’m a cop, and you’re under arrest. My partner’s just called for backup. They’ll take you to the station and you better not make this difficult.”

The kid looked lost. Clearly nothing had gone according to the script in his head. Hank would have felt almost sorry for him if he wasn’t so annoyed.

“I swear,” the kid tried in a small, nearly cracking voice, “I-I’ll-“

“Yeah, don’t bother,” Hank said and threw a quick glance over his shoulder, “Connor! Let’s get him out of here.”

“Sure.”

“Hey!” the kid snapped indignantly, “You can’t do this! I bet you’re not really even a- _fuckshitwhatisTHAT?!_ ”

He had taken one look at a half-exposed android face and had his legs almost fail him right there. Connor gave a small, barely audible sigh of annoyance. Hank almost smiled at that.

“I know right?” he turned to the wannabe-robber and pushed him a little, “Alright, start walking or I’ll sick the Terminator over there on you.”

There was a moment where the kid may have been considering being smart about it. But it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. He took one more look at both Hank and Connor, and then he moved. Hank had just enough time to twist the kid’s arm and to grab the gun before the kid wriggled free and broke into a run.

“Oh, come _on_!” Hank yelled, maybe at the wannabe criminal, maybe at the universe.

He ran after the retreating back, but was quickly outpaced by Connor, who shot out of the store like he was made for this kind of shit. Which he was, to be fair. The kid glanced over his shoulder, yelped, and yanked down a trashcan that opened and threw up plastic bags, out-of-date readymade lasagne boxes and even a few glass bottles – the non-recycling bastards. Connor jumped over the mess in his way and turned a corner with Hank doing his best to keep up. His lungs hadn’t been prepared for this kind of shit at the moment. The winter air was stinging his airways, making him regret his unhealthy life choices. A few years ago he could have easily caught a whelp like the one they were chasing now. But now he was really struggling to even keep him in his sights.  His legs pumped, and he felt his pulse pounding in his ears. It reminded him of a time not long ago, when he and Connor had chased androids who had gone emotional and possibly murderous on abusive people. To how that time had reawakened something dormant in him. Namely the appreciation for the rush that came from apprehending bad – or in many cases misguided – people.

There was a small voice in the back of his head that told him that he had missed it. Missed living and allowing himself to enjoy it. Missed _making an effort._ Then it dared to add that maybe he could go back to that.

He rounded another corner, stumbled through the snow and kept his balance. He righted himself just in time to see Connor launch himself at the now screaming young man. The kid lost his balance, and both he and Connor tumbled into the powder snow that _poofed_ into the air all around them. The world’s least glamorous snow globe. When the snow settled, sparkling and still postcard-worthy, the robber was pinned to the ground with his hands twisted behind his back, and Connor was holding him down with one deceptively wiry – no pun intended – arm. The ground around them was a mess, a mutant snow angel hidden somewhere under the two.

It took Hank a too-long moment to catch his breath.

“Nice one, Connor,” he gasped, and then looked almost amusedly at the squirming robber, “Hey, kid? What the ever-loving _shit_ made you think that you could somehow outrun an android?”

Connor’s LED suddenly flashed yellow, and he looked up and to Hank’s right. He opened his mouth to warn him, but luckily instincts were faster than words. Hank turned and managed to almost jump out of the way of a plank that swung at his face.

Son of a bitch hadn’t been trying to get away, but rather to get to his allies who had been waiting farther away.

Hank might have been proud of that deduction if he a) wasn’t an experienced police detective who did this kind of shit for a living and b) didn’t just witness the world flash in stars and pain explode in the side of his head. The piece of wood had grazed his temple and scratched at his cheek, but he had hopefully managed to avoid a concussion. He stumbled backwards and lifted an arm between himself and a new swing, after which he grabbed the plank and twisted with enough force to disarm his attacker.

The plank flopped into the snow and the sound stung Hank’s aching head. He knew the hit he’d received hadn’t been a bad one, but it still hurt like a bitch. He blinked blood out of his eyes and tried to identify who had just tried to flatten his face. It was a fairly young woman, with a curly mop of hair smushed into an ushanka hat and angry eyes blinking from above a thick knitted scarf. She was swearing up a storm and fumbling for something in her belt. A gun, probably. Hank was quick to pull the gun he had confiscated from the kid and point it at her. She froze.

“Shit!” she spat, “Kevin, how the hell could you fuck this up so bad?”

The kid, who was apparently named Kevin, was now lying on his stomach all on his own without the gentle encouragement of an unyielding robot arm. It took Hank’s rattled brain an annoyingly amount of seconds to realise that Connor wasn’t holding the kid down anymore, but was rather standing a few steps farther away in the chokehold of an impressively large guy. The idiot had probably been too focused on both helping Hank and trying to hold the kid down to realise that there had been a third guy in hiding. Even a supercomputer could only multitask so much especially when said computer only had two arms and two legs. Hank quickly checked his partner for injuries. Connor seemed to be fine and completely unconcerned by the arm that was built like a log and currently pressing against his throat with force that would have been incredibly uncomfortable for a human. It looked more like Connor was deciding not to kick the guy’s ass purely out of common courtesy.

“Okay,” Hank said in his best cop voice, “First of all, you”, he pointed his gun at the woman again, “Put that gun down. And you”, he jabbed the finger of his free hand towards the guy holding Connor, “Let him go so I don’t have to charge you for assaulting an officer.”

Sure, Connor wasn’t officially an officer yet, but that was about to change soon if Hank had anything to say about it. The kid in the ground very carefully lifted his head.

“And you,” Hank said and the kid – Kevin – cringed, “Stay down. I ran out of patience with shit like this a long time ago today.”

“Fuck you, old man!” the big guy snapped, “You shoot any of us and I’ll tear the plastic’s head off!”

“Maybe I’ll shoot you first, then,” Hank growled. Sure, he wasn't really going to shoot anyone if he absolutely didn't have to, but they didn't need to know that. And sure, he was handling this all unprofessionally as all hell, but someone had just threatened his friend _and_ he was suspended anyway. So fuck protocol.

The Big Guy frowned, looking almost lost for a second.

“Uh… then I… uh…”

“Wow,” Hank rolled his eyes, “You sent a kid to rob a store and now you can’t even get your script straight? That’s… yeah, that’s pretty weak, guys.”

“Shut up!” the woman said, “We’re just doing what we can to get by.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hank said, “I don’t care if you’re trying to get a Christmas present for your dying mum. I’m still taking you guys in.”

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but then she looked at Kevin, who had started to squirm uncomfortably in the snow.

“What? You’re seriously doing this for your mum?” the woman asked.

Kevin looked at the snow like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He was probably blushing like mad underneath his scarf.

“Well, she’s not dying,” he mumbled.

Big Guy’s face suddenly broke into a smile.

“Aww, respect, man! At times like this, we _should_ be thinking of our families.”

“I completely agree, Mr. Brim,” said Connor, “When was the last time you called your mother? If I’m not mistaken, she’s still alive and well.”

“Yeah, yeah, she is,” Big Guy nodded vigorously and looked eagerly at the woman, “Hey, Jane, maybe you should call your family too!”

The woman named Jane sighed.

“Maybe I should, yeah,” she said slowly, “And… wait, what the hell are we doing? We should-“

She didn’t manage to finish her sentence, because during her brief distraction, Hank had closed the distance between them and slammed her to the ground. He disarmed her of the gun on her belt around the same time Big Guy started swearing again. Hank turned towards Big Guy, a flash of worry for Connor striking him as hard as Jane’s plank had a moment ago. Big Guy’s mouth opened into an angry snarl, which quickly turned into an almost comical wheeze when a perfectly placed android elbow to the solar plexus dropped him like a sack of bricks. Connor dusted off his too-thin-for-this-weather jacket and stepped away from Big Guy like nothing had happened. The son of a bitch even had the guts to flash a small smile and a somewhat sarcastic apology to the gasping man on the ground. Then he turned to Hank and frowned at the wound on Hank’s face.

“Are you okay? You should get that wound cleaned as soon as possible.”

Hank wasn’t sure whether to yell at both him and the world, or to laugh.

The kid named Kevin practically ran to the police car that wheeled to the scene some time later. After securing the two less cooperative thugs, Hank waved a sympathetic hand to his co-worker, Tina Chen, who had responded to Connor’s call. She was one of the many unfortunates to get the Christmas shift on this shitty year and the only one who wasn’t busy locking the back of the now full car and had a moment to chat.

“Hang in there, Chen!” Hank said.

Tina gave him a small smile.

“You too. Aren’t you supposed be suspended? Why’re you busting crime on your free time?”

“Not my intention. Just a crappy day.”

Tina laughed dryly.

“You do _look_ like crap. And Connor- _whoa_ , what happened to _your_ face?”

“Coffee,” Connor replied, “Have a nice day, Officer Chen.”

“As nice as it can be,” Tina flicked her hand in goodbye, “Happy holidays, you two!”

As the self-driving cop car sped back towards the precinct, Connor turned and cast a very insecure and somehow weary look at Hank.

“I don’t look _that_ bad, do I?”

Hank gave him an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, you do. But it’s uh… getting better.”

Hank put his hands into his pockets, suddenly feeling very tired. His cheek still burned from the wound, and his legs felt like lead, “You know, we should probably really head home. I think this day is just one of those when everything’s out to get us somehow.”

He paused, then pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Except we still don’t have the keys. Shit!”

Connor shifted his feet a little bit. He looked almost… sheepish?

“Actually,” he said slowly, “I looked up lockpicking instructions the moment you told me you forgot your keys inside.”

Hank blinked several times.

“You _what_?”

“Why did you think I wanted to buy paper clips?”

Hank stepped a bit closer to Connor, towering over him and doing his best to look even a little bit threatening to the state-of-the-art combat machine who could probably break him in at least five hundred ways if he really tried.

“You’re telling me you’ve been able to get back into the house for over two hours already?”

Connor smiled. It was an especially fake smile he was definitely doing on purpose right now.

“Yes. But I figured fresh air would do you some good.”

He then lowered his head a bit, shoulders slumping in a very human gesture.

“To be fair, I _did_ estimate that our time out here would be less… filled with unfortunate occurrences.”

He looked back up, almost hopeful.

“Did it make you feel even a _little bit_ better, at least?”

He was doing the puppy eye -thing again. Fuck. Hank _had_ to build up more tolerance to that. Preferably _before_ Connor learned to deliberately weaponise it.

“Well… I guess this was better than not getting up in the morning,” he said at length, “I mean, I got to yell at annoying people _and_ bust some idiots trying to rob a store.”

He found himself replaying the moment he was breathing in frigid air and almost enjoying the run. Then the longer moment at the mall, where androids and humans alike were trying their best to spend time together in peace. Where Connor had looked like an excited, goofy kid and where Hank had decided that the world wasn’t completely broken yet. Then he thought of the adrenaline-rush again, and the mutant snow angels that had dotted the snow.

“And yeah… I guess I feel pretty good now.”

Better than any Christmas in the last three years, at least.

Thankfully, Jenkins’s snowmen had stopped singing by the time Hank and Connor returned. Hank hoped to all gods he didn’t believe in and who probably hated him that they would stay silent. He leaned to the wall while he watched Connor – whose face was thankfully intact again – carefully twist and bend paperclips into lockpick-shapes and then start to work on the lock.

The door swung open about ten seconds later, and Sumo’s excited barks greeted them. The huge dog jumped up at Connor, who caught him into a hug.

“Easy, Sumo. We’re happy to see you too,” he said into the dog’s fur, “Just wait a moment, we need to get inside first.”

The house was the way they’d left it. Christmas lights in a straight line, lingering scent of spices from Connor’s cooking, and everything neatly in their places. The neatness had become more or less normal after Connor had moved in – the kid had way too much processing power to just sit idle during the days – but the lights and the scents were like a weird, intrusive but not entirely unwelcome memory from a happier time. A time when even Jenkins’s snowmen would have felt more appropriate. Connor immediately made a beeline for the first aid kit and returned with disinfectant and Band-Aids. While Hank cleaned his face, Connor fidgeted in place and finally managed a quiet:

“Hank?”

“Yeah?”

“I… I hope you don’t mind, but I have a present for you.”

Hank stared.

“Seriously?”

“…Yes? That’s why I said it.”

“Hell, and I didn’t get anything for you. Or anyone.”

Connor smiled.

“You gave me a place to stay and were responsible for at least ninety percent of my journey towards free will, so I think you have given enough.”

“Hey, hey! Don’t get sentimental on me now. Just…” Hank vaguely waved his hand, “Shit, I’m not good at this.”

With another smile, Connor pulled something out of a cupboard. It was a thin, square box wrapped in a somehow very serious, red and gold paper.

“There aren’t currently many open stores in Detroit for obvious reasons, so I had to order this online and convince the delivery android I could guarantee her safety here.”

“You went through all that trouble?”

Connor shrugged, looking at the walls almost embarrassedly.

“Well, it was… nice to have something to do.  And I _wanted_ to give you something.”

 _Wanted to_. There it was again. He was making so much progress. Hank smiled, clumsily took the gift and tore the wrapping. From the shape and weight, he had already guessed it to be a vinyl for his jazz collection, and it turned out he was right. A man with a saxophone and the words _Charles Lloyd_ shone on the old cardboard cover. It was the real deal, an old, physical vinyl, not easy to find in this day and age.

It was thoughtful. It was awesome. It was more than a sad alcoholic deserved. Hank suddenly felt the spicy air almost clogging his throat and something stinging his eyes. He would have blamed the dust, but he knew for a fact that Connor had vacuumed the whole damn house yesterday.

“I didn’t have this one,” he managed, “This is awesome. Thanks.”

He wasn’t good at thanking people. But from the way Connor’s LED blinked a happy blue and his face broke into a real smile, spitting out that word and really meaning it had been worth it.

It was a good moment. And of course that had to also be the moment Jenkins’s snowmen started singing again. Even Connor winced at that, his LED flickering yellow for a second.

“Oh, hell no,” Hank muttered. He stomped to his gun drawer, pulled out his revolver, still with the one bullet in it, and walked back to the window. Connor put a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” he started.

“Yeah, I know,” Hank said, “But damn, it would feel so good. You think I could get two of them with one bullet?”

“I don’t think that would be appropriate…” Connor pointed out, and then glanced at the snowmen outside, “I think you could get even all five of them if you angled your shot just right.”

Hank let out a short laugh.

“Good to know.”

He sighed.

“Yeah, but I guess you’re right.”

He glanced at the gun in his hand, thought about the evenings spent wallowing in despair and alcohol. About the rounds of Russian roulette, the clicks of an empty chamber he was both glad and disappointed to hear. The fact that now… that now, even in this fucked up world full of dead kids and racist assholes and extinction and politics, there were people who were singing carols like it was a normal thing for flesh and plastic to hold hands at a mall. The fact that there was a friend next to him, someone he’d already gone halfway to hell and back with to free a newly sentient race of people. Someone who had somehow decided that spending the first weeks of his self-aware life with Hank of all people was worth it. He thought about a world where he could be like the Kellers – or how he was now – and spend Christmas lamenting all the things that were wrong. Or he could try to shape something new out of the ruins that were his life.

He almost laughed at that. A relieved laugh, not a fake one. But he kept it inside and settled for a slightly out-of-practice smile instead.

“Well, since we’re not shooting snowmen…”

He slipped the only bullet onto his hand. It was somehow heavier than he remembered. He knew it wasn’t enough, that it would be so easy to just put another bullet in. That a few good days wouldn’t change the fact that he’d have many difficult ones ahead. But it was a start. It was symbolic, and some weird part of humans always looked for patterns and symbols. Rituals. To follow and to break. And he had a feeling that he had some rituals he could start breaking. Right now.

He handed the bullet to Connor, who took it slowly with a questioning frown on his face.

“Happy Christmas,” Hank said, “If it’s your first gift ever, then sorry it’s a shitty one.”

But Connor was smiling an unsure, almost moved smile that somehow made everything feel that much more significant.

“Thank you,” he said.

In the end, they decided to drown out the singing of snowmen under the tunes of Charles Lloyd. As the saxophone and the piano filled the house, as Sumo settled on half on the couch and half on Connor’s legs, and as Hank got hungry and started to sort through all the festive foods Connor had cooked up, Hank again dared to think that the day hadn’t turned out to be a complete disaster after all.

And thankfully, this time the universe decided to let him have that.


End file.
